Tangier

III

RAMADAN. It settled upon our town with the August haze and a dry, hot Saharan wind. At dawn a cannon roared out from the port to tell the faithful to begin the daily fast. At dusk it roared again, arousing a clamor from all the mosques. Then the spicy smell of harira soup perfumed the air, and we were bewitched by the sounds of Arab flutes.

But then, as the fast progressed, anger engulfed Tangier: dogs became vicious, babies shrieked, quarrels broke out in all the quarters-the wells were running dry.

The holy month divided Tangier into two cities: a city of foreigners exalting in our season, and an Arab city of brooding multitudes who regarded us with an unflinching gaze. Their Tangier became the backdrop before which we pranced and played, living sweetly in the interstices of their rage…